


Good Morning

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Other, POV First Person, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 20:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13842264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Misfire snickers. “Fulcrum, I think you got hacked or something. Someone just messaged me from your account saying ‘Frag me.’ Must be one of those porn bots. You should change your password.”





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Lalalala before you comment please read my notes at the end (peace sign emoji) thenksssss

The bridge from asleep to awake is short, and I cross it abruptly and without expecting to. One moment dreaming, the next not, and then accompanying that a flood of realization of the content. I’m reluctant to move, because sex dreams always do that to me—leave me wanting to go back and get some kind of impossible reconciliation in a fairy tale realm and earn a world-shaking orgasm the likes of which no one has ever experienced.

I haven't not managed it yet.

In a manner more of resistance than willing effort, I curl myself onto my side, trying to force myself deeper into the berth and encounter something else: Misfire.

I’d always kind of joked, though mostly just to myself, that you couldn’t catch Misfire in a mood where sex wasn’t an option. I’m prepared to test that theory immediately.

Making a soft sound of sleepiness, I curl both arms around one of Misfire’s and tug it towards me uselessly, but not without a bit of jostling. “Mmn… Fulcrum?” Enough to rouse him, apparently. I don’t want to talk, though. There’s a lingering ache in my array that my torturous subconscious has built up in me after who knows how many hours of repetitive and unsatisfying ministrations that I’m eager to get rid of, via someone else. And that’s all I want to do. Talking is not included.

I make another noise and tug on him again, still lacking the proper coordination to effectively convey what I mean and keeping my optics firmly shut. Something about this whole situation always struck me that opening my eyes was a sure way to lose the bliss of sleep, even when my consciousness is fully active and trying to concoct a way to get someone on top of me.

Misfire groans a little and shuffles onto his side. “What?” He sounds as tired as I feel, though, perhaps luckily for him, not as horny.

And along with my theory about opening my eyes is the idea that talking ruins it. The amount of effort required to make words...no thanks. Not into it. Since my brain is already on (though another part of it is denying that in the efforts I’m taking to not appear awake), I spend a modicum of energy sending him a message on TBC.

I can hear Misfire blink his optics open. “Did you just DM me?”

I snuggle in a little closer, grinding my thighs together and hoping he just _opens_ it, because the throb there is bordering on uncomfortable.

Misfire snickers. “Fulcrum, I think you got hacked or something. Someone just messaged me from your account saying ‘Frag me.’ Must be one of those porn bots. You should change your password.”

I groan. My clever tactic has failed, or Misfire is being willfully ignorant, but either way I need to expend even more effort. I grab his hand and tug it towards my panels, which I remember to open. “Just do it,” I murmur, “and let me sleep.”

“What—” But my theory is right, and seemingly without thinking about it, Misfire is working his fingers into me. “Wow, someone had a good dream.” He’s more smug than he needs to be considering the lengths I just went to in asking him to fuck me while I doze; of course that’s what happened. I just hope he doesn’t talk too much, which, even as I think it, is a silly thing to ever wish for when it concerns Misfire. I give up on it immediately because hoping for anything or caring about outcomes is also too much effort.

But finally, for a few blissful moments, I have the relief of his thick, solid fingers probing into me and providing fast, hard strokes. It’s almost uncomfortable to realize I’m this wet just from the dream, that there’s excess lubricant leaking out of me where Misfire’s fingers stretch me open with their stroking. But the discomfort is subsiding fast as charge builds in me, quicker than usual, promising an almost embarrassingly imminent overload. I make a couple more soft, effortless sounds and feel a surging within me, not quite a normal peak, but something that closely echoes it, and that I can’t think to call anything else but perhaps a particularly strong convulsion.

“Jeez,” Misfire mutters, clearly watching my unguarded expressions as I writhe gently around his hand. “Did you really just come?” He starts to draw back, but slowly as if he’s not sure if he should or not. I grab his wrist and hold it there in a loose grip, not ready to relinquish this potent slow build yet. I want him in me but I don’t want to have to say it and I hope he’ll pick up on it soon, and the best move I have to convey this is just a shake of my head and a flex of my calipers around his fingertips.

“Hmm,” Misfire hums. “Far be it from me to complain about getting action—and I don’t mean it in the self-own kind of way either, just that I’m always down—and also this isn’t a complaint—but do you really think you’re going to be able to sleep through this?”

I don’t want to answer that, and I don’t think I should have to, so I just do what I feel, which is making a pitiful sort-of moan and spread my legs a little more.

I hear a click as his panel releases and the distinct sound of a spike pressurizing. That was fast.

“Fine, I see how it is,” Misfire continues. “You just want me to pamper you, you big baby.” Kind of just want you to pound me, actually. “I’ll make it so good for you that—well, that you’ll wake up by the end of it.” Really not the point, Misfire, but thanks I guess.

My valve ripples in anticipation as his fingers withdraw and I shift just slightly on the berth, though I let him make most of the adjustments. Okay, so he wasn’t totally wrong about the pampering, but it’s not like I ever ask for much. And I’d be willing to repay the favor if the circumstances were reversed, though the thought of Misfire trading out a state of stillness and silence for his usual mode of vibrant and loud strikes me as unlikely.

There’s a sort of purposefulness in the slow way Misfire spreads my legs to accommodate for himself, the lingering of his palms on my thighs as he lifts them slightly. I lament the cool air between us for the moments it persists, and relish in its dissolution when he leans down into me, his spike first rubbing against the lips of my valve and my overcharged node in a way that makes me gasp out an actual syllable and clutch weakly at him. I ache to have him in me so much that there’s a hard knot of heat strangled in my intake.

“Okay, so maybe it’s kind of fun to see you acting so desperate.” If I were in the position of giving looks, he’d sure be getting one. “You must really be tired if you’re going to act all _wanton_ in front of me just to get me to ‘face you.” I ignore all of this, planning to cope with whatever embarrassment might strike me whenever it chooses to do so. I didn’t know Misfire had it in him to tease, but apparently he does. He rolls his hips over mine, running the length of his spike up and down against my node so I have to suck in a vent to clear that knot. I hear my fans kick off and wonder what took them so long while at the same time realizing the bulk of my pleasure lay dormant with my consciousness without the application of actual tactile sensations.

He’s still Misfire, after all. He doesn’t quite have the constitution for full-on edging, because that would require him to keep his own overload under control. So after a few more thrusts against me, he scrabbles for some good leverage on the berth and presses himself fluidly into my valve.

It’s a smooth and easy glide combined with a taut, undeniable pressure for both of us. He fits me nicely, enough to be a good stretch on days like today and comfortable enough on ones with a little less anticipation. Misfire groans into my neck, immediately rocking back and forth over me, trying to be conservative against his usual speed, though in this state, I could take much more.

I utter a little whine to try to tell him so, clinging again loosely to the outside upper parts of his arms. I don’t have it in me to reach for his shoulders. As little as the situation might normally appeal to me, right now I want nothing more but to lie here quietly while he pounds into me.

“I gotcha, buddy,” Misfire murmurs to me. I find it oddly comforting, but not so much that it alleviates my intense and unflagging lust. It’s just kind of pleasant to hear him speak softly to me through the last vestiges of sleep that have been hanging around me like a fog. This I attribute to my still-closed optics and minimal use of speech, and I’m glad to have it with me still. And whether it’s in my imagination or it’s reality, that bolsters the effect of Misfire’s spike slipping in and out of my valve on the charge building in me. I feel ready to break again, though this time it’s a little more distant, and I want that peak of friction I know Misfire’s capable of before I submit to it.

And as I’m still reluctant to use my words (more than syllables of noise here or there that come of their own accord), I make use of my frame instead, tensing my valve as tight around Misfire’s spike as I can manage. It instantly has the desired effect of blessed, frenetic friction, and for the sake of politeness he might have wanted to build up to it, but pleasure is gripping him now just as solidly as my valve grips his spike, and Misfire is not the kind to unwind.

“Sheesh,” Misfire pants, fans already blowing at full speed though I’ve done little more than lie here and be sticky, “that must have been some dream. I’m assuming I was the star, of course. Oh _hell_ this feels nice…” He groans into my shoulder and slams his hips against mine, not so much coaxing as wrenching another overload from me.

It’s welcome, wonderful, and to my surprise, incomplete. As he still moves we’re caught in the throes of my overstimulated and oversensitive convulsions, which have me finally using more of my strength to grip him, and him losing his own control of himself and spilling into me with my name on his lips. I’m silent this time not for my resolution to keep myself from true wakefulness, but for the force of the final, true overload that hits me, pulling it all together into one ultimate pleasure.

I’m venting hard, rippling in the aftershocks of it as I cling to him, feeling his spike still throb with charge in me and pretty much past the point of caring. There’s so much twitching and adjusting and surging in me that it takes me a moment to notice I’ve opened my optics. The traces of sleep are leaking away from me as quick and fluid as water and I’m coming to terms with reality, though fixed in the laden-down field of our afterglow.

With a bit of wiggling, Misfire disengages us, but stays mostly where he is, which is on top of me. The weight is comfortable for a little while, and I like the heat of him on my chest and against my neck, but then I start to lament an easier path for my still-running vents and move to shift us so we’re only half obstructing each other. Misfire’s breath lingers near my neck, and he lifts his head briefly to check that I am actually awake.

“The hell was that?” he asks with absolutely no malice. His tone is more impressed and contented than accusatory.

I smile and him on the back. “You’re welcome,” I say. “Thanks for not talking so much it ruined the mood.”

“Can’t tell if sarcasm…” Misfire says slowly, skeptically.

Maybe a little, but I’m not admitting it because it was still nice. I give an awkward sort of horizontal, half-pinned shrug. I’m still smiling.

“Alright, I’m going to pretend you’re _not_ maybe insulting me after I just ‘faced you through the overload of your _life_ while you just laid there and say instead… Good morning.”

“Yeah, sure is,” I concede, this time with complete sincerity.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Hey before you comment...** If you're planning on telling me "This was nice but I just wish it wasn't in first person because that kills my boner * <:0(" reminder that _you didn't have to read it!_
> 
>  
> 
> **  
>  Please don't neg me, I write porn for free.  
>  **
> 
>  
> 
> And I've heard this enough that I now deserve to be passive aggressive. I even tagged it for ya'll this time so you have literally no excuse for tripping and reading fanfiction that doesn't appeal to you :)
> 
> Anyway, if you have nice things to say I welcome them! Thanks for reading!


End file.
